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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610903">Are you hurting the one you love?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingOfABetterYou/pseuds/DreamingOfABetterYou'>DreamingOfABetterYou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Kissing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exes, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:09:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingOfABetterYou/pseuds/DreamingOfABetterYou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been two weeks. Two weeks after the break-up. Two weeks after the shouting and yelling had just faded into “…what are we doing here, Arthur?”<br/>Arthur hadn’t known then.<br/>He sure as fuck didn’t know now.</p>
<p>He had not been prepared to see Eames.<br/>Eames, by the way his face lost all colour when he walked into the abandoned office where they were stationed, hadn’t either.<br/>________________________________________________________________</p>
<p>Or: A misplaced kiss might just make it right.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur/Eames (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Are you hurting the one you love?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello my darlings,</p>
<p>I thought of an accidental kiss that comes from having gone through the motions so many time that it doesn't even register after a break-up while I was listening to some sad music, and out came this.<br/>I really hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!</p>
<p>Lots of love,<br/>Liz x</p>
<p>PS: Title comes from Florence and the machine's song of the same name.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been two weeks. Two weeks after the break-up. Two weeks after the shouting and yelling had just faded into “…what are we doing here, Arthur?”</p>
<p>Arthur hadn’t known then.</p>
<p>He sure as fuck didn’t know now.</p>
<p>Now meant work. Work he could do, he thought; he needed something to get his head away from the thoughts echoing in his mind. All about Eames, unsurprisingly. <em>How can you ruin eight years in just one day</em>, Arthur wondered, in inopportune moments, like when he stood in the shower in the morning. It probably hadn’t only been the one day. He just didn’t quite know when they had started to stop…trying, probably.</p>
<p>He had been looking forward to clearing his head with work, had packed some of his favourite suits – though not the charcoal windowpane, since that had been Eames’ favourite, and he couldn’t bear something on his skin which was interwoven with the memory of Eames’ hands on him. He had flown to Brussels, prepared for a not-too-difficult job with a not-too-amazing paycheck. Whatever. He needed this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had not been prepared to see Eames.</p>
<p>Eames, by the way his face lost all colour when he walked into the abandoned office where they were stationed, hadn’t either.</p>
<p>Cursing himself silently for not thoroughly checking the names of the other people involved, Arthur had gritted his teeth as he approached Eames for a handshake.</p>
<p>“Mr. Eames” he had said coolly, the way they had always talked to each other on jobs. Nobody had ever known, all those years, that at the end of the day, after laying some intricate false trails to hotels and safehouses to protect themselves, they returned to the same home. That they had been not just colleagues. Far from it.</p>
<p>Arthur had never worn the ring that Eames had given him, six months ago, not even on a chain around his neck. <em>“A promise” Eames had murmured against the warm skin of Arthur’s neck as their joined hands closed around the ring, “that I’ll make an honest man out of you one day.”</em> He had been terrified that someone might see, someone might know, someone might hurt Eames.</p>
<p>Apparently, hurting Eames was something that came almost naturally to Arthur.</p>
<p>Arthur had felt a muscle in his jaw twitch as their palms slid together in casual professionalism, holding on just that little bit too long for Eames’ eyes to flick up to meet his. <em>Do you remember the last time you touched me?</em> Arthur had wanted to ask. <em>When I took your hand and near-begged you for one last fuck? One last kiss? One last anything? Do you remember how you pulled away, and left without even taking that fucking tweed blazer hanging over the armchair?</em></p>
<p>Arthur didn’t know whether Eames had been home before coming here; he had gone to a hotel because he couldn’t bear the little corners of the house that whispered Eames’ name.</p>
<p>“Arthur” Eames had said cheerily as they parted. No flicker in his eyes betrayed his emotion, or lack thereof. If it hadn’t been Arthur’s life, he might have been impressed by that acting skill.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The worst part was that working together felt like it usually did. They clicked right into place, the way they had always done. Arthur forgot to go out to eat, as he always did, and nonetheless there was always a lunch on his desk at the appropriate time. (He was too sick to his stomach to even look at the food the first three days. It wandered to the bin untouched, though Arthur took care that Eames wouldn’t see. <em>Only to prevent a scene</em>, he told himself, when in reality, he knew that he would ferociously guard Eames’ heart from more harm, even if it didn’t belong to him anymore.) The job looked promising, easy enough, and everything had gone without any hiccups so far. Arthur would have congratulated himself on his impeccable research if he hadn’t known that any of his would-be mistakes were always caught by Eames before anyone else had the slightest chance of noticing something was off. They worked like they always did, and it tore Arthur apart in its agonising familiarity. <em>Why won’t you scream at me? </em>Arthur wanted to ask. <em>Do I mean so little to you that you can just ignore everything we were?</em> A pathetic train of thought, yes, but not one he could help having.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bone-tired after too many hours at a desk, pouring over document after document, Arthur rose with an audible crack in his spine as he stretched. The office was comfortably dim-lit since nearly everyone from the team had left already; Arthur’s migraine-prone self was thankful for the lack of fluorescent overhead lighting. He just wanted to sink into bed, think of nothing for a few hours, and never see a bank statement ever again. Yawning, he shut off his desk lamp and shouldered his black leather bag, making his way over to Eames’ desk as his thoughts already strayed to an idea of a late dinner.</p>
<p>“I’m off. Don’t go on working too hard” he muttered softly, one hand cupping the broad line of Eames’ shoulder as he leaned down to meet the other man for a kiss. It was only when he felt Eames’ lips tense under his own instead of soften into a smile that he realised his mistake. He snatched himself upright as if he’d touched something scalding.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry” he exclaimed, taking a few steps back for good measure. When he dared to look back into Eames’ eyes, they were heavy and sad.</p>
<p>“You forgot” he said quietly; it wasn’t a question. Arthur couldn’t tell if there was grief or anger hiding under the surface of his words, and hated himself for not being able to read Eames after only such a short time apart.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry” he repeated, scrubbing at his face with one hand. “It’s been a long day.”</p>
<p>“A long two weeks, you mean” Eames interjected.</p>
<p>Arthur shrugged heavily. “That too.” Pressing his lips together, he could still taste Eames – a flash of tea, a bit of nicotine from the cigarette he had seen him smoke instead of eating lunch, a tinge of the lip balm he favoured. It wasn’t a good kiss to keep as their last; he much preferred the one he had thought of obsessively the last two weeks. The way Eames had run a hand through his hair as he kissed him lazily, both of them half-awake but already reaching for each other, the duvet heavy and comforting on top of them. He swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat, and tried not to imagine that one day even this horrible mistake of a kiss would be washed from Eames’ lips by someone else’s mouth. He could barely stand the thought of it.</p>
<p>Straightening his shoulders, horribly aware that Eames knew it was a gesture he had born from uncertainty and self-consciousness, he turned towards the exit when the Englishman’s soft question held him back.</p>
<p>“Are you doing okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It should have been scathing; a sarcastic quip, a taunt. It wasn’t. Arthur could hear the love, the affection, the worry in those simple words.</p>
<p>It was the reason why he turned back around and answered truthfully, even if he couldn’t build up the courage to look at Eames again; illuminated by that shoddy desk lamp like he was a lighthouse Arthur ought to return home to.</p>
<p>“…No” he confessed, hating the way the word tasted in his mouth, hating the way his voice shook on those two letters already. “Are you?” he blurted, terrified the answer might be yes.</p>
<p>Eames sighed; some fabric rustled. Possibly him running a hand through his hair, massaging the back of his neck, where he carried too much tension. “Not really. But it’s enough, most of the time.” His voice was dreadfully wistful and nostalgic; Arthur was sure that were he to lick in Eames’ mouth right now he’d be able to taste the wine they had had during their first non-date, the ice cream they had foolishly shared on that rainy afternoon in Cork, the French toast Arthur had made Eames when he had stayed over for the thousandth time.</p>
<p>“It has to be” he said decisively, meeting Eames’ gaze with a determination he didn’t feel.</p>
<p>“Does it?” the other man echoed back. Just a sliver of hope, and still…it couldn’t be enough, could it?</p>
<p>“Eames” he sighed, near-reproachful, and at the same time so ready to surrender this constant role of strictness and non-allowance that he had squeezed himself into. He was coming apart at the seams; judging by the way Eames’ eyes softened instead of shuttered, the other man knew that only too well.</p>
<p>“I came back, you know” Eames offered into the large space between them, Arthur still lingering awkwardly twelve feet away. <em>You’ve always been ready to leave, haven’t you?</em> Eames had thrown at him during their very last, very deadly fight. Standing at the door with his things packed on his back, he felt the words running through his bones like venomous marrow. “I came back the next day. You were gone. And you didn’t come back. We should have figured something out; it’s your house too, Arthur.”</p>
<p>Arthur shook his head. “It’s not my house if we’re not in it together.”</p>
<p>“Where did you go?” Eames demanded urgently. “<em>Why </em>did you go?”</p>
<p>“Because I couldn’t <em>breathe</em>, Eames! I couldn’t sit, or stand, or sleep anywhere in that house because every bit of it screamed your name. It smelled like you, but I didn’t dare light some candles because then you’d be gone completely. I was going insane after only a few minutes. I had to go.” Breathing heavily, Arthur sniffed; he felt like a child, rubbing his damp eyes against the sleeve of his coat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eames stood slowly, like one might approach a deer in the woods, walking towards Arthur, away from the light until they were only an arm’s length apart. <em>Stay there</em>, Arthur thought. <em>Stay where you can be happy. I can’t make you happy. I could never make you happy.</em></p>
<p>“You’ve made me very happy” Eames promised in a near-whisper, making Arthur’s ears flush with humiliation.</p>
<p>“You weren’t meant to hear that” he replied mulishly, even as he greedily drank in every detail of Eames’ face, even the bits that made him immeasurably sad.</p>
<p>“You’re not sleeping well” he stated, and then felt both foolish and mean for saying so.</p>
<p>Eames smiled weakly. He looked helpless in a too-large shirt that he had clearly bought at the horrid thrift shop around the corner from the office. <em>Do your clothes remind you of me, the way that mine remind me of you? </em>Arthur wanted to ask, but didn’t. He wanted to ask so many things. In the end, he settled on one.</p>
<p>“Why did you come back, the day after?”</p>
<p>“To talk to you” Eames replied, voice suddenly slightly rough and tense. When Arthur looked away from the bit of stubble that was longer than the rest – careless shave – and into Eames’ eyes again, they were too shiny to not be full with tears. “To make it right.”</p>
<p>“And I wasn’t there.”</p>
<p>“And you weren’t there” Eames confirmed. He blinked, and his mouth tensed into a painful, embarrassed shape the second he apparently felt the tears on his cheeks. Before he could scrub them away with his hand, Arthur reached out and cradled his cheek in his palm, catching the tears with his thumb.</p>
<p>“What are you doing, Arthur?” the other man said tiredly, even as he leaned into Arthur’s touch like he had been starved of all contact for decades.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t there then. But I’m here now” Arthur promised; if he sounded like he was begging, he didn’t much care. “If I had known you would come back, I would have never gone in the first place. I swear to you.”</p>
<p>Eames exhaled heavily, it tickled the small hairs on Arthur’s arm. “Are you sure? Are you really sure? Because…I can’t do this again. It killed me, Arthur, being away from you. Just…I know the commitment is too much for you. I’m not sure how to compromise on that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arthur frowned as he stepped back, dropping his hand from Eames’ face. “Too much for me?” he asked incredulously.</p>
<p>“You never wore the ring I gave you” Eames forced out between his teeth; the grief in his words was nearly smothering Arthur. “I figured that was your way of saying it was too much.”</p>
<p>“Eames” Arthur groaned, even as his heart clenched at the idea of having hurt him so deeply. It had been a constant point of contest in their relationship, the way Eames interpreted being pushed away with every little gesture. It came with his history, the way his parents raised him – or didn’t raise him, rather – and the people that had left him behind; still, stepping carefully to avoid hurting him weighed heavily on Arthur sometimes.</p>
<p>“I didn’t wear your ring because I could never forgive myself if anyone were to hurt you because of me. If anybody were to find out how much you mean to me, and then instrumentalise hurting you to get to me…I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He stepped back into Eames’ space, now raising both of his trembling hands to cup Eames’ face. “If it were possible, I would wear your ring, your name, and everything else you would give me, for the rest of my life, and further beyond that.”</p>
<p>“You don’t believe in life after death” Eames reminded him, his voice nearly a sob.</p>
<p>“For you, I might change my mind” Arthur swore, pulling the other man close to kiss him desperately.</p>
<p>Eames tasted like fresh grief and copper, and salt. Arthur felt Eames’ body tremble against his as he cried, and cried in turn, gasping the sobs right back into the Englishman’s mouth.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry” he whispered, nearly crushed by the way Eames’ arms were clenched around his ribcage like a vice. “I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry too, darling. I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Arthur felt the other man’s untidy stubble rub up against his face uncomfortably as the kiss deepened even more, but he did nothing except lock his arms around Eames’ neck to pull him even closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They slowed, after some time, kisses intermingling with soft touches and softer murmurs; promises of affection and soothing nothings. Arthur closed his eyes at the feeling of Eames’ rough fingertips on his cheeks, the line of his jaw: Relearning his shape. When their touch passed his lips, he pursed them into the resemblance of a kiss. His eyes flickered open before he spoke. “I love you” he enunciated clearly, felt the way Eames’ fingertips rose and fell with the movement of his lips, the way his breath caressed them. “I won’t be able to wear your ring. But you can get me a pocket square, or a tie, or a notebook, and I’ll have it with me every day. Anything you want. Anything you need, to believe that I’m here. That I’ll be here.”</p>
<p>“Darling” Eames whispered brokenly, replacing his lips where his fingers had been a moment ago. Their exhaustion from lack of sleep had already kicked in, so the kiss was short and sweet. Arthur still gasped for air when they parted, and chuckled at the way Eames’ mouth curled smugly.</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, you’re the best lover I’ve ever had. Get over yourself” he moaned jokingly even as he stroked Eames’ hair.</p>
<p>“How would you feel about going on vacation after this, hm?” Eames suggested. “We can go somewhere lavish and ridiculous, and do absolutely nothing.”</p>
<p>Arthur hummed. “We can, if you want to. But I just want to go back home, with you.”</p>
<p>Eames’ smile was blinding. “Home it is.”</p>
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